


Shark Week

by uglywombat



Category: Chris Evans (actor) - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Buzzcut Chris Evans, Cunnilingus, Dodger is a good boy who knows when to turn his back, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Oral Sex, Pre-period hormonal breakdowns, Smut, Smut on a couch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglywombat/pseuds/uglywombat
Summary: Since the dawn of man, the menstrual cycle has wreaked havoc on women-kind. So far in your relationship with Hollywood heart-throb and sweethearted Boston boy Chris Evans, he hasn’t had to bare witness to your hormonal rollercoaster. Until now. And he has a way to help you as you approach shark week.
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor)/Original Female Character(s), Chris Evans/Reader, Chris Evans/You
Comments: 12
Kudos: 104





	Shark Week

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jtargaryen18 (snowqueen79)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowqueen79/gifts), [Caffiend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiend/gifts).



Since the dawn of man, the menstrual cycle has wreaked havoc on women-kind. Revered in some cultures and abhorred in others, no two periods are the same. The monthly cycle, the sacred period of preparing ones’ body for pregnancy has held back women for centuries, despite the development of science and medicine.

Aunt flow. Crimson tide. Lady business. Moon time. Carrie. Riding the cotton pony. That time of the month is a bitch.

Shark week, as you have known it since your teens, is mercurial by nature. One cycle can be easy-going; little bloating, slight cramping, manageable flow. Other cycles, much like the incoming one, is not. Your life will resemble Dexter’s Kill Room, an orgy with Ben and Jerry’s and the horny-levels of a ninth-grade boy with his dad or mom’s Playboy.

Curled up on the couch under a mountain of blankets and a furry water bottle pressing against your body, you numbly fix your gaze on the tv, the Below Deck marathon keeping you from losing your mind. Your fingers curl through Dodger’s soft fur as one particularly brutal cramp tears through your uterus, liver and kidneys. The dog, well Chris’ dog, is a God-send, keeping an eye on you as you suffer the life-ending, gruelling, ceaseless cramping that resonates through your whole body.

Never leaving your side, the mix-breed fur-child has provided necessary licks and giggles as the cramps have progressively worsened and your body prepares itself for the oncoming chum factory.

Besides the uncomfortable bloating and moody ebb and flow of anger, hysteria and uncontrollable sobbing over the missing Flaming Cheetos, the most unbearable symptom of your period is this: unabating horniness. Constant. Unforgiving.

Due to Chris’ frantic and furious filming schedule, you’ve thankfully never had to spend the precursory cycle before shark week with him. He’s never had to endure the outrageous rollercoaster of emotions or sex-pollen-esque levels of desire, until now.

Thus far, day four into the overture of your cycle, you’ve managed to contain your outbursts to the safety of the shower or the pantry when Chris has stepped out. You’ve managed to replace four boxes of tissues without him noticing and three tubs of Chocolate Chip Affair from your 3 am feast.

Today, however, a split pancake mix had seen you ugly-crying on the kitchen floor Blair Witch style as Chris could only watch on in horror, carefully patting your back like he would a dog.

It was embarrassing and humiliating, the tension in the air palpable as you had picked yourself up and locked yourself in the bathroom to bathe in your own self-pity whilst he had gone out to visit his mother.

A part of you, a big part, wanted to sulk upstairs, pack up your overnight bag and go back to your apartment instead of hanging around waiting to be dumped. Because Chris, as sweet and kind and nonjudgmental as he is, is going to break off your relationship when he returns because a man like that deserves better than the weeping pile of mess in his kitchen.

Dodger picks up on the sudden wave of sadness as you imagine Chris throwing you out of his house, breaking off your nine-month relationship and burrows his nose into your neck.

“I know, buddy,” you say with a sigh, “I’m sorry. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

You’re grateful your soon to be ex-boyfriend left you with the company of the sweet fur-baby as he’s the only thing keeping you from having an actual Britney breakdown. Are you proud? Absolutely not.

Nor do you feel particularly dignified as your stomach plummets at the sound of the familiar roar of the engine and your quick descent under the blankets as Dodger dutifully leaps off of the couch to greet his daddy. Time to come up with a plan…

Heavy footfalls after the jingling of keys in the door draw you further under the mountain of soft blankets, the typical cramp piercing your innards. Fuck this.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight as you feel the blankets shift and a hard, hot body sink onto the oversized couch in front of you and pull you into a warm embrace. The heady scent of his cologne is still present, light with the aroma of coconut milk, pink pepper and bergamot.

Pouty lips dot your skin tenderly as Chris weaves his fingers through your hair. “I’m sorry, baby,” he hums, “I should have been here for you.” He’s so warm and inviting, the fresh buzzcut like fine velvet under your skin as you draw yourself in closer. “How are you feeling?”

Your head spins in the overwhelming aura permeating off of his heated body and sweet scent. “Like shit.”

Chris chuckles and kisses you gently. “Want a heat pack? Medicine? Chocolate? Chicken noodle soup?” You shake your head, gripping onto his thin t-shirt tightly as you feel the faint pooling in your thin panties. “Of course, there is another way to alleviate the cramping.”

You gasp as you feel his lips map the line of flesh from your lips to your sternum through the thin material of the t-shirt you had stolen from his bottom drawer, The Patriots symbol covering your breasts. Lifting the shirt up, he peppers your bloated belly with soft, marshmallowy kisses that make you want to coo.

He takes his time painting your inflamed abdomen with soothing kisses as his large hands gently tease your soaked panties and pyjamas over your hips, before haphazardly throwing them over his shoulder. You can just spy Dodger standing guard at the door, his back turned to you both.

Chris’ hands are hot against your skin, soothing and grounding heat seeping through your pores. In conjunction with the increasingly sloppy mix of lips and tongue on your belly? Like fucking medicine.

Long fingers ghost over the skin of your inner thigh as he claims your lips with his own, the taste of tea and Starburst still faint on his tongue. He catches the breathy mewl escaping your lips as he brushes his finger over your swollen cunt, dominating the already dizzying kiss.

The more you sleep with Chris, the quicker you are to willingly dive into the soulsucking vortex that surrounds him. He’s a fucking demon or something, a little possessive, all teeth and tongue and a cock that just hits the right spots at the right fucking time every time. He’s clearly had practice but has demonstrated an enthusiasm for learning and perfecting your body’s desires.

Jealous? Readers, you should be.

The vortex itself is Dr Who-ish; you can get so lost in his heady kisses and distracting ghost-fingers that he can spin you around and enter you from behind before you can even register the soft sheets against your skin.

And with the bull rampaging hormones steam-rolling through your veins, blood and breath, you barely register Chris jumping from the couch and pushing the coffee table back a few feet. You’re so distracted as he pulls his too tight t-shirt off of his fucking Adonis upper body and that swoon-worthy smattering of hair over his chest and tattoos, that you are moving into a seated position.

And then the world fucking crashes into a smouldering pile of ashes as your boyfriend, who is nothing like Captain Vanilla America, drops to his knees, throws your calves over his shoulders and licks a filthy, mewl-inducing stripe over your sopping and needy cunt.

This was happening. For the first time in your life, a boyfriend was willing to go down on you right before the bloodiest of bloody shark weeks was upon you. You are all too aware of the changes your body goes through right before your reproductive system prepares to embrace all the little baby-making organisms, as it has done for women since the dawn of man.

The change of P.H. levels is all too evident, panty soaking has become your nemesis during this time and oh my god Chris doesn’t care. Nope, he eats you like a fine melting ice-cream on the Fourth of July. The fresh buzzcut, whilst all warm and velvety, doesn’t provide much to grasp onto but fuck it feels good against your hands.

Wholly exposed and defenceless against his keen and exacting tongue, well you could only sit back and enjoy the show. What a shame…

The resounding orchestra of tongue, arousal, satisfaction reverberating against your skin and needy mewls fill the room. It’s crude, debauched and down-right scandalous; the filthy symphony filling the room and Dodger standing at the door with his back to you both.

The way he drags his tongue through your folds, stopping short of the crown jewel you’re dying for him to taste is utterly cruel. The destitute throb in your clit is almost enough to distract you from the those crystal azure eyes watching you with acute care, cherry red lips and soft beard grazing your overheated skin.

Chris is an amazing, attentive giver of the oral goods, he knows your body better than any partner. Ever. But this? This is next-level hot, eyes locked as he begins to vigorously fuck you, actually fuck you, with his long, talented tongue.

A flurry of curses and wanton begging escapes your lips as you try to shift against him, desperate for more, but he tightens his grip on your thighs. The delicious pressure against your muscles brings your hands from his silky scalp and down to your hands.

Perhaps your begging is enough to warrant the end of this torture, albeit delicious, as Chris is linking his hands with yours, his hold still firm on your thighs and his tongue… Fuck, his tongue is dancing furiously over your swollen clit and you honest to God begin to see stars.

His hands squeeze yours gently, his thumb caresses the back of your hand as you come with an empathic cry and your whole body quivers. His tongue is unrelenting as you ride out your bone-crushing orgasm, eyes locked on one another. You could die.

You can barely breathe as you plummet back to earth, white-noise fuelling your ears and veins as Chris diligently licks you clean and tenderly kisses your clit through the descent of your high. 

It’s all so dizzying, the frantic beating of your heart and desperately gulping air to fill your lungs, your body literally dancing with energy and fire. You barely register Chris returning to the couch and pulling you into a rib-crushing hug against his chest.

You languidly kiss, coming back to earth and waking up from the cloud of your high, hands desperate to feel the organic and resounding connection that has been building for months.

“I thought you were going to come back and dump me,” you confess meekly, your thumb caressing the well-groomed and soft beard shaping his face. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

Chris chuckles, gifting you a small but sweet kiss to the lips. “I’m not going anywhere, honey. I should have left a note saying I was running to the shops to get you supplies, but you’d locked yourself in the bathroom and I…” he stops himself for a moment, evaluating the slight crease in your forehead. “I will be better prepared next time. Advil, heat packs, Ben & Jerry’s. Anything you want.”

Your heart melts and swims. You don’t know what you did to deserve him.

“Well, I can think of a few things I would like to do before shark week is officially upon us. How about we go make good use of that massive shower you have.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Feedback is always welcome.


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